Holding Pattern
by Entwife Incognito
Summary: Their declarations were clear. Romance should be easy for Jane & Lisbon. But old fears die hard. It takes a little work to set two lives on a shared path. But commitment and love can make it a lot easier if they let it. 1-shot. Bit of angst followed by hot fluff. Warning! Adult sexual situations. Don't like that? Then don't read this! Disclaimer: I own nothing about The Mentalist.


_**A/N I want to thank a couple of anons and mrandmrsjane from Tumblr and BE7H from Twitter and a prompt from YulianaHenderson on fanfic .net and a last minute tweeting with austinpd1a during today's Mentalist marathon. Thanks for tossing me enticing head cannons and plot bunnies that could finally get worked in, perhaps not in the original ways imagined, but hopefully recognizable. While I'm at it, thanks to all the guests and anons who leave reviews for my fics. I truly thrive on reviews, no matter how they get to me. :)**_

Patrick Jane wanted a cigarette. No one in living memory, at least in the CBI or FBI, had ever seen him smoke. His last time was about age eighteen, when he was dating Angela. She couldn't abide the taste of cigarette smoke transferred from his mouth to hers. And he wanted her kisses. The foul odor overwhelmed every breath freshener and gum known to man, according to her. It hung in his clothes and hair like Pigpen's dirt cloud and stuck on the inside of every place he inhabited, despite the infrequency of his indulgence. Apparently he left a trail of stink. And he wanted to hold her, eventually naked, and to make love whenever and wherever she would allow him, something that didn't happen for almost a year, a few months before they married. So, in hope and to please, Patrick stopped smoking. His habit hadn't yet grown to an addiction. He wasn't even buying packs yet. But he enjoyed it. He enjoyed Angela more. So he quit and never picked it up again.

He had to settle his nerves somehow. Two fingers of scotch hadn't done the trick. He was unhappy. Lonely and unhappy. Hurting. So many years of it. He thought when he and Teresa had kissed after their declarations of love, hers after a searing kiss once they were out of the TSA office, it was affirmation between them for long nights of repairing long years of love unrequited by necessity or by confusion. Instead of this being the start of a happy new life with the woman he loved to the exclusion of anyone else, including himself, he felt more lonely and sad than he could remember since the murders of Angela and Charlotte, his little girl.

It seemed foolish, perhaps overdramatic to compare the two sets of losses, especially one only apparent, unconfirmed. Teresa Lisbon seemed not to love him with the fervor of their first kisses. At all. At least not carnally. He had stopped trying to see her except when she asked him.

Patrick started pacing the Airstream, drink in hand, stopping for a couple of refills as he tried to think things through. Soon he shed his shoes, absent-mindedly pulled out most of his white shirttails, then spun his belt out of its loops and flung it to land on the couch. His trousers sagged and dragged around his socks as he continued to walk the floor.

His musician wanna-be neighbor stopped by to bum a beer. Jane handed over two and relieved Jimmy Don of the remains of a pack of Marlboros, maybe ten left. The crinkle as he dug into the rumpled pack and fingered out a tobacco hit offered familiar comfort. Bending to the flame, he lit it over the stove and breathed in the smooth smoke without even a tickle of cough. The nicotine wrapped something in the base of his skull and calmed him. He resumed pacing, to think now.

Those first kisses had been weeks ago and they hadn't got beyond that stage. Teresa wanted to take it slow. Date. Visit. Talk. Kiss. Patrick could understand at a certain level, but hell, she had forsaken regular sex, a fiancé, imminent marriage and a new job, for him. Why put the brakes on now? She had wanted Pike that way, but not him? He felt frustrated and emotionally stung. It hurt. He wanted to seal their relationship with physical union, move forward. He wanted her desperately. Lisbon seemed happy as long as he stayed within her limits, but nervous when he gave obvious signs of wanting to move further. He felt stuck.

He was afraid to push, talk to her about it. She had to know what he wanted. She had to know what it meant to him beyond the physical release. It was almost as if she was trying to turn him into Pike, distance and objectify him to a diluted emotional level she could manage. Only she had already made it last almost three times longer than the total duration of her relationship with Pike.

So, on top of everything, Jane felt he was being treated unfairly. His self-protective response was to withdraw a little. Teresa had to sense the distancing and probably interpreted it as waning interest. Maybe she thought it was about sex. It was. Because sex was necessary to proceed with what he knew they had both wanted to build together. Could it be she didn't realize the importance of their sexual union to the rest of their lives? His desire for her sang in every cell of his body, day in and day out. Wasn't it the same for her?

He was hard now, just thinking about her, how much he wanted her, wanted to share the coupled depth of his desire and love. Flicking the short remains of the cigarette into the sink, he lowered his clothing and stepped out, keeping his socks on.

It saddened him to be reduced to his hand and fantasy, but he sat on the couch and watched his blushing cock, fat and swelling, rise through the split in his shirttails. It reminded him of certain erotica, an elegant porn, the ones where the men wear suits, the women slinky evening gowns and the action takes place in a mansion. Patrick was a fan of slinky dresses on women. Remembering her beauty in the strapless hot coral pink gown he had bought her, he imagined Teresa in a new one, coppery satin to set off the fiery green of her eyes, the contrasting light on satin accenting the nipples of her naked breasts. He gently brushed his sensitive skin with the flat of his fingers, top and bottom, the skin of his balls, the plump head. Hardened until he stood straight up, he begged it to be her hand that wrapped him, closed his eyes and made it so. When he ejaculated, hot tears flowed down his cheeks knowing she was not there, but he caressed himself as he knew she would caress him. Desperately, he needed her love and their joining as part of its expression.

In the depths of his post-ejaculatory trough, it came to him.

It was fear! Simple, soul-deadening fear. She was no happier than he. His heart went out to her, that she should suffer so. Her old fears! Trust, commitment, being overwhelmed by her own feelings. It drove her to a reductive process whose meaning and value she could control, pared down to something she could leave if she had to. It could not be so with them! She had to find her bravery and save them both!

It was a slow afternoon in the bullpen and Lisbon was exhausted. Work hadn't been that busy. She just hadn't been sleeping well. Desire haunted her, the fulfillment of which was easily within willing reach. But something held her back, an old fear. The sun coming through the massive bank of bullpen windows was warm and too bright for her weary eyes. Jane napped nearby on his couch, and there was no one else to take her attention and keep her alert. Folder open on her desk, something practically unheard of in Lisbon's career happened. She nodded off at her desk as her head dropped softly onto the folder's contents.

Patrick had his hands on her, lifting her breasts, filling his palms with their weight, thumbing the nipples through her clothes. She wanted him, wanted to be naked for his long fingers, but he teased her.

"Pull it all the way up," he rasped. She did it slowly, the oversized zipper loud in the quiet of the featureless room of her dream. Then he was in her desk chair and she was straddling him as he continued to handle her, her breath catching on a sigh as he squeezed her breasts, hard, then pushed them as high in her bra as they would go, supporting and rubbing them underneath with one hand while the other took the clasp of the zipper. He wanted the slow reveal.

He wanted to unwrap her languidly because her zippered top heated his blood. He wanted to savor it, the nicking sound of the zipper pulled nib by nib, white skin soaking up moonlight, mounded and round, circling deep into the shadows where the breasts curved from her chest, resting in lacy cups.

Lisbon was alive with desire, spreading all over her body from where Patrick's hands loved her. As he unzipped the top, the swell of her breasts tried to force the zipper to open faster. But he wouldn't allow it. Nick. Nick. Nick. The sound meant liberation, passion filling her ears like deep rapids in the river of her blood. She wanted her boobs out, exposed to his hands, the nipples reaching for his mouth, setting an explosion when his lips would close on her. The mounds of flesh felt sun-hot like ripened fruit, Jane peeling them in slow motion. Nick. Nick. Nick.

The zipper was down and Jane reached in for his bounty, opening the top to push her all the way out, rising from a red lacy bra. Then he broke the inner peel, pushing his nimble fingers into the cups to lift her breasts out, straining for his mouth. She groaned and said his name, then, 'Kiss me. Kiss them,' and whimpered the tight thread of want traveling her body.

Startled, she awoke, Jane gently shaking her shoulder. His eyes were soft and he stood very close to her. So close, the bulge in his trousers was unmistakable. Usually, he was at enough distance that she could pretend she didn't see. She sat up, turned her head and backed up her chair instead. The movement of her legs released a distinct scent of arousal, sweetish and musky. If she had been looking, she would have seen him leap under his trousers. His knees felt weak and he put a hand on her desk to steady himself.

Jane tried to mask the hurt in his eyes when she backed her chair away, but she caught it. It hurt to disappoint him, to deny herself—and him-everything she wanted. Picking up her own scent, she turned a shocked face to him, so close she knew he had her scent, too. Eyes round and mouth open, her cheeks took on hot color when he caught her eyes flicking to look at his arousal, her nostrils flared. She licked her lips as Patrick watched, nodded and his tongue darted to moisten his bottom lip. But neither moved to get closer.

She couldn't understand her fear, but she knew Jane sensed something major was wrong. They were together. There were no obstacles, but she created them. Realizing a few days ago that she needed to talk to someone, a professional and not a friend, she'd made an appointment with a therapist for late that afternoon.

"That was some dream you were having,Teresa," Jane teased. He lowered his eyes and softened his voice. "I assume I was there?" She had been moaning and calling for a kiss. Long enough and clearly enough that it woke him. More than simply aroused, the beast stirred inside with a strong impulse to strip her and take her on the desk, her legs wide and over his shoulders as he drove into her, teasing her lips with raw kisses. Right then. But she had backed away more and avoided looking at him. Was she dreaming of someone else? Did she want to go back to . . . _him?_ No. He knew that wasn't true. She had looked right at the rise in his trousers and licked her lips. He wanted to be the one she longed for, waking or sleeping. It seemed she desired him. Why did she hide it, withdraw from it? He was sure something had re-energized her fear of getting close to him. How long would this go on? Had he done something wrong that made her doubt him again? He couldn't imagine what. Did she need him to move in heavy on her? He thought that would make it worse. But he couldn't last forever. If she didn't want him . . .

She blurted, so he would at least know, "You, you _were_ in my dream, Jane." Her eyes darted away as her courage to say his role failed and she ended with a lie. "I don't remember it now."

Jane frowned, knowing she'd lied-hell, knowing she knew he knew the lie. She would have to lead them out of this. He didn't know the way. "Teresa. I need you to save me. To save us." He let her see his pain, confusion.

Lisbon almost cried when she saw Jane's open, honest plea. He must feel desperate. Holding out an arm, she reached to him, wiggling her fingers to draw him near. When he took her hand, she looked into his stormy eyes, so sad. He needed her to lead them out of the horrible mire she had created. "I _will_ save us, Patrick. I am. Come to me tonight."

He nodded and quickly kissed her fingers, no one but them to know.

Inside, the rutting beast stamped a countdown of the long hours and minutes until he could get to her. Jane had not dealt with that part of himself since the first couple years after his wife's murder. The beast wanted relief. During his decade-long celibacy, he had so successfully suppressed it, that his own hand, on infrequent occasion, was succor enough. He responded to the physical pressure and did not often entertain fantasy, focusing on sensation instead. Those fantasies that so insistently broke through, refusing to dissolve, always involved Lisbon. To give an object, especially a real person, to his physical promptings was an invitation for dangerous attachments. And he'd avoided that as much as was possible for a man with an appetite like his.

Perhaps she needed him to press her, as if she was a virgin wanting and fearing to be deflowered. Lodge himself where he must be when she melted in desire and push in fast as she begged him for it. But she might freak if everything was being run by her fear, either of commitment or of any lingering lack of trust that he was here to stay and would not disappear. Control enveloped all of it.

"Every time he drops me off from a date or leaves my house after a visit, I almost sicken, thinking it will be the last I see of him. I, I feel . . . relieved . . . that we haven't made love and so deeply sad at the same time."

"I see. The pain would be greater if you became that close and then he disappeared?"

"Yes. I know he wouldn't—now. I know that. But I'm still afraid." Saying the words made her feel foolish, a cowering silly little girl. It was ridiculous. But it was real.

"How often do you see each other?"

"A few times a week."

"Hmmm."

"What, Doctor?"

"Please. Call me Ed."

"All right. Ed."

"That surprises me. After all you two have been through, over so many years . . . finally finding each other . . . I would think you'd at least be living together."

"I think Ja-Patrick would like to do that."

"What about you?"

"I want him. I want him in my bed. I want his love. I want to give him my love. I want to make a life with him, live with him. I'm just afraid."

Ed looked at her. It didn't add up yet. "Your concern that he will leave frightens you, I'm sure, but I sense there may be more. Is there? What is it that you're afraid of, Teresa? All of it, if you can."

"I, I don't know. The fear just takes over." It froze her right then, made her anxious and avoidant.

"You do realize that you are creating the very situation you fear. No man in love can withstand what you are asking of him. Especially after waiting so many years and believing you wanted to be with him." Her mouth opened to explain that away, but he headed her off. "Granted, there are other reasons. Your intake interview is quite detailed and I appreciate that."

"I do want to be with him. I want to marry him."

"Do you think that will solve the problem?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure. When I imagine it, I'm still afraid. But surely if we're married, I'll feel safe. Things will be permanent."

"Is that what you tried to do with . . ." He shuffled through her file. "With Marcus. Marry him to feel safe?"

"I think in a way, yes. But it was mainly to make myself go on without Jane, who I felt must not love me."

"But now you know he does. That's not an issue anymore?"

"No. Not at all. He loves me very deeply. Wants me. All of me."

"And you're afraid of giving all of yourself?"

"Yes. Always have been. No one has ever demanded—expected it of me. Wanted that much. It is scary. But so thrilling that it makes me . . . makes me—"

"Makes you . . . ?

"Well, uh . . . pant. I want it. He will give me the same. God, I want that so bad. I want to see, uh, really experience him like that, know him that thoroughly. And him know me."

"Then . . . what about going for what you want, even if you're afraid? Sounds powerful. Beautiful. And rare." Ed was rooting for this woman. She seemed on the precipice of something life-altering and fulfilling."

"I should. But I can't." Her distress nearly overwhelmed her then, her face in a grimace, struggling not to cry.

Maybe there was something she hadn't told him. "Unless you feel there is something off about it, dangerous or harmful to you in some way. Is there anything like that going on, that you haven't told me?"

"No! He is only good to me!"

"Have you thought about inviting him here, to come with you to these sessions?"

"He wouldn't want to do that."

"Not even to save the relationship you both cherish? And to create the one you want together?"

"Well . . . yes. Actually, he would do anything for me. Even this, if he knew I needed it."

"Sounds like you have a wonderful man in your life."

"I do. I just don't know what to do with him. He'll take over and I'll disappear."

"Oh. Now, that's a different issue. That's about control. So we have fear of losing control. And that leads to fear of commitment."

"Yes. I guess so. It sounds so stupid."

"Feelings are just feelings, Teresa. And they usually have reasons. Both of your parents died early in your life, correct?"

"Yes. My mother died in a car wreck. Drunken driver. My dad couldn't get over it. He turned into a drunk. I had to take care of my younger brothers. Then, Daddy killed himself."

"That's three profound abandonments, Teresa, none of which you had any control over."

"Three? I figured just my mom and dad dying."

"Those are two physical abandonments, serious enough. But your dad abandoned you emotionally before he physically abandoned you."

"I guess that's true."

"And from what you've told me about Patrick, he has physically abandoned you at least twice. And triggered those fears many times. When you started seeing Marcus, it was when you had decided Patrick had abandoned you emotionally, did not love you the way you loved him. As a romantic couple."

"To love Patrick has been an overwhelming experience. He's a man with great personal power, control and charm but also capable of deep and loyal love. His actions frightened me so many times. That he'd disappear, maybe get killed doing one of his many secret plans to catch a perp. Losing him would have been . . . more than I could bear. And then he held out admitting his love for me until he desperately declared himself at the last minute when I was leaving him."

"On the plane. When you were on your way to marriage with another man in a far away city."

"Yes."

"Did you love this man?" He ruffled through his notes, the intake papers again. "Marcus Pike?"

"No. I was just too weak to separate from Patrick. I, I told myself I wasn't . . . but I was using Marcus to get away." Quickly she added, defending her character, "But I would have honored that commitment. I would have married him and been the best wife I could and I'm sure I could have learned to love him."

"You didn't love him."

"I didn't, no, I didn't love him. Yet. But I hoped to."

"What have you just told me?"

"In my defense, he never said he loved me, either."

"Your defense is you just needed a way to break completely away from the man you really love."

"It wasn't calculated. It just happened. I thought I could make it work." She rubbed her forehead. "I'm so tired."

"I'm not surprised. All the effort you put into making yourself accept a marriage proposal from a man you didn't love after a relationship of, what, maybe six weeks duration? And now fighting the love that you do want and can have. You obviously want a marriage relationship. But the man whom you say you've loved for years, who loves you, whom you actually want to spend your life with . . . him, you keep at arm's length . . . avoid him now that you've both admitted your feelings and there is nothing in your way."

"I know all this."

"Do you? In your head, maybe. But you don't speak of grief, the longing, the pain of such a realization, the strong pull of sexual desire you must feel."

"I want Patrick! I want him!"

"And you think I'm the person who needs to hear this?"

"You're my therapist, Ed!"

This woman was so close to doing what she needed to do. The only thing left was to take a step towards her lover who waited with open arms. But she had to take that step for herself. "Yes. I'm your therapist. And that's all I am. I can't fix your problems. I can help you define them. Help think of ideas to try to solve them. Encourage you to try those potential solutions. But who has to actually do the work and make the changes?"

"Me."

"Have you told him any of this?"

"I'm sure he's figured out most of it." What a chicken-shit she was! She'd done the same thing about her decision to move to D.C. It had hurt Patrick to the core to find out by the grapevine instead of directly from her.

"That's not what I asked."

"No. We haven't talked openly about my problems."

"Only his?"

"Fuck! Damn it! Yes! It's true."

"All his fault?"

"No! That's ridiculous! You've got me so confused, I, I can't think straight. How would it help for me to tell him what he already knows?" It was useless to perpetuate her lie. She was a coward, pure and simple!

"He doesn't know. He suspects. Perhaps he needs a little confirmation. But that takes trust on your part. Do you trust Patrick with your feelings?"

"I don't know. Yes. I think so." She raised her head, glaring. "Of course I do!"

"Your feelings of weakness?"

"N-no. I don't really trust anybody with that." Lisbon couldn't help the tears that welled from her eyes. The admission made her feel so alone.

Ed let her cry for a while, passed the tissue box when she started looking for it. "It seems that you want to trust someone with your weaknesses . . ."

"P-Patrick. I want Patrick. I want him to hold me. I think I could be safe in his arms."

"That sounds like a direction, Teresa. A plan, if you will. A direction . . . for your happiness."

"He'll think I'm an idiot."

"The man who loves you? Not want to have you in his arms? You know that's not true. Besides, you've said in here somewhere . . ." He tapped the folder. "That he'll always want to save you. Just like you will always try to save him. Was that the truth?"

Eyes clearing and focused, Teresa dabbed at her wet nose, her chin raised a little in defiance. "Absolutely."

"Can you give him that? Give it to yourself? Take that little step?"

"Little for you . . ."

"That step is too big?"

"No. In fact, I, I long for it. I want to go to him right now and crawl into his arms. And that's all." She looked down at her hands. "For now."

"You don't know if he could stop at that?"

"No. He would stop. I, I think he would be really glad, happy, if I turned to him like that."

"I'd be surprised if he wasn't thrilled to find you snuggling into his arms to tell him your secrets, who you are." Was she ready to act? "So, what's your plan then?"

"I'm going to find him. Today. And as soon as we settle at my place, or at his, I'll get into his arms. And he'll hold me."

"Does one place feel safer than the other?"

"Not at all. It's Patrick. I'll be safe with him wherever we are."

"I'm glad to hear that." Ed tapped his pen on the folder a few more times. "You know . . . despite the obstacles we've noted about commitment fears, abandonment, etc. that we've talked about today, it doesn't mean that you will require long-term therapy, Teresa. You seem to have walked in here already on the verge of a breakthrough. The life you want is so few steps away. Especially since you're willing to take the action you're ready for and feel able to set the limits you need."

"That's good to know. I think I sound like a complete wreck."

Ed shifted his legs and cleared his throat. "Planned boundaries have a way of getting stretched. I think this is particularly true with your feelings for Patrick and his for you. Um, Teresa. Are you really able to control your passion for this man? What if it feels right to go further? What will you do?"

"Why . . . if I really feel it, I _will_ make love with him. It's what I want, after all, and haven't been able to give. I think it could only be good for us." Brow wrinkled, she questioned, "Are you saying . . . do you think . . . I should stop, no matter what?"

Chuckling, the therapist shook his head. "No. Your judgement seems very sound. Actually, I think it's a very healthy sign that you would adjust your boundaries to include sex with the man you love, if and when it feels right to you."

"Oh. Good. Because I don't think I would stop just because you told me to. If it felt right, I mean."

"Teresa, you are a very healthy woman, struggling with a history and problems that many face, and not so well, I assure you. It's my job to help you leave here with hope. You're in chaos right now. It's very unpleasant and uncomfortable to experience. It _does_ makes a person feel like a complete wreck." He smiled gently. "But it's dynamic. Things are moving. Even something small can create a tipping point where everything suddenly resolves into a beautiful pattern."

"Or it could tip into madness?"

"Very, very unlikely. Oh, no. I wouldn't worry about that. Your mind and your defenses are too strong and too well integrated. The worst that would happen is that those defenses would kick you back into your familiar holding pattern. And . . . you could always try again later. Or try something else."

"So, not hopeless, then." She shook her head and sighed, unable to help but smile at her therapist, a bit of sparkle back in her eyes. "No. I'm not going to let that happen. It's not fair to Patrick, or myself either. We deserve everything I can put into it."

"You make me a very excited therapist, Teresa. I hope things go very well for you. And you can tell me about it next week."

Counseling was draining! The day had been unusual and demanding before she had even entered Ed's office. She left encouraged but tired but in a peaceful way. Actually, Teresa was glad to feel so enervated. She didn't have enough energy to power fear. Fear had collapsed somewhere and, exasperated, flagged a hand and told her to just do whatever the hell she wanted.

Patrick had already arrived with take out and had it on the table with a bottle of wine. They ate slowly, a companionable quiet made happier by warm smiles and occasional soft kisses. Feeding each other forkfuls of dinner kindled their libidos and the wine warmed their blood, put them at ease and fostered their deep natural attraction.

Hoping to start a chain of confessions, Jane smiled mischievously. "I want to tell you a small, but very important thing, about what it's like for me to be with you. It's earthy, though. Basic. I'm not sure you want to hear me unfiltered."

She loved his titillating intrigue. "Of course I do. I want to hear anything you want to tell me." She saw him hesitate and it made her blush a little. "Just say it."

He put his hand on her thigh, a nudge for her libido with a bald frisson of the explicit. "Whenever I see you . . . as _soon_ as I see you, Teresa . . . my dick moves in my pants." Giving her leg a quick squeeze, he let his hand rove to her knee, cupping it.

"Oh." She probably should have been embarrassed, but she had to laugh at his wide grin and sultry eyes. And the bubbly feeling at the center of her chest. Focused on the movement of his hand, Lisbon felt a rush of warmth, and wet. Her eyes darkened when she looked at him. "That feels . . . it feels . . . exciting."

A mild blush suffused her face. Jane watched her eyelids relax and her lips part as if opening for more air. "Not just that I get hard, Teresa. But hard so fast, I actually move, jump inside my boxers. Sometimes I can't really hide it. I have to turn away."

"Sometimes I think I see something, but I don't want to stare at you there. Especially not at work."

"I know. You won't look how I'm hard for you, even when we're alone. I wish you would. I'd get harder. I long for you. You excite me. Maybe that's what you don't want."

"No! I mean, I do want to look at you . . . hard." She pointed at the armchair. "Please sit. Bring your wine. I have something to tell you."

Pausing to examine her eyes and expression carefully, he saw nothing hurtful or distant, so he sat down. He was pushing his shy little bird, but she approached him instead of fluttering away.

"I'm intensely interested in you that way." She allowed him to see the desire in her eyes. "In us. You hard, me wet. I talked to a therapist earlier today."

Patrick's concentration lapsed as he let Teresa's words loop through him several times. She'd said she wanted to be wet. With him hard. His heart pounded for several beats, supplying blood to parts below. When he focused again she was concentrating on his lap, her cheeks bright. When she brought her gaze to his, her eyes were dark fires in a deep forest. A therapist was the last thing he expected. Her need must have been urgent. But it relieved him, gave him hope, to know that she wanted to improve things between them and was willing to seek help to do it. "Therapy. It surprises me a little. I know you don't like that stuff."

"I know. But I guess I got desperate enough . . . I didn't know how to be with you—in this new way, how to let myself go. I've been afraid, holding back. I'm sure you thought I had changed my mind."

"I have to admit I've had that thought." Blushing, he smiled shyly. "You saw a therapist to, to make things better for us?"

"Well, yes. There's nothing more important to me. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you, but I was so stuck. I don't know why I couldn't tell you."

She had stood in front of him for so long, he finally got up and took her into his arms. "Thank you, Teresa. You're the most important thing to me, too. I should have said something, listened to you, maybe in a cuddle." Squeezing tighter, he planted a kiss in her hair.

Sighing, she put her ear to his chest and listened to the steady thump of his heartbeat. "Could I . . . I mean, would you mind if I, if we . . . cuddled now, on the couch together? I like to be close when I'm talking to you like this."

"I'd love it. Close to you is how I always want to be." He sat first and stretched his arm across the top of the couch.

Teresa didn't try to sit next to him. Instead, looking into his serene eyes, she gripped his chest, put her head on his shoulder and slid into his lap. "I want to be here. It's easier for me to talk. Safe. I'm tired of being far apart from you. I want you to know what I'm feeling."

"That's the best news." He put his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest. "Cuddle closer. Right now. There's nothing I'd like better than to hold you. And listen to you. And kiss you." He gave her a warm hug and a light kiss, then listened as she told him about the visit with her therapist.

"Ed sounds like a pretty smart man."

"Yeah. I think he figured me out in five minutes. I'm sure I'm not much of a mystery to anyone with training."

"No. It's not that. It's just that serious wounds have a very classic way of presenting themselves. You can see mine pretty easily."

"I think you're better at covering for them than I am. But yes, after so many years, I think I know where some of the big ones are."

Sitting in silence for a few minutes, the pair enjoyed the quiet of the evening and the dimness of the living room, subdued light filtering from over the sink. His semi-stiffie was a tantalizing lump against her bottom, teasing her without particular intention. As he had said, he got hard just seeing her and now she was sitting in his lap.

His expressive embrace frequently lifted her so that he could press their cheeks together, a low hum emanating from his chest. The next time he lifted her, Teresa turned her face to catch his lips and start a kiss. Patrick took a strong breath through his nose and moaned in surprise, transferring the vibration to her lips and into her mouth when she opened for him. Sliding through his embrace to put her hands in his hair, the feel of his curls winding through her fingers took her breath away and she huffed hotly in his shapely ear, curls tickling her nose as she nibbled and tenderly sucked the lobe.

The thrill poured through his skin over neck and shoulders, more than he could stand, his body starting to melt into heady instinct. Cradling her head in his hands, he lowered her to the couch, using the rhythmic movements of her own body to ease her down, legs still across his lap as he slid from under them to lay his chest on hers, moaning her name. His mind was filled with the sweetness of lying with her, adjusting himself to stand erect, resting the hard flesh against her thigh as he turned her to face him, petting the curves that made her length, pulling her closer and closer.

He made breathy whining noises and she realized they matched her own. She was soaking wet and he was marble, making her writhe against him. They broke the kiss to stare at each other, sense how they felt together, the physical state of their want and readiness. To weigh their desire against any fear or resistance in the other. They were still fully dressed.

Jane's breath caught in his throat, the realization of a fantasy right before him. Teresa was wearing the top with the zipper, the one that incinerated him with unstoppable lust for days after she wore it. He grasped the pull and she laid her fingers on his.

"Can we go to bed?" She pushed his finger into the shiny circle pull.

"Oh, yes. Yes!"

But they had to kiss again and that took a long time, leaving them without breath to make the journey right away. Jane's wide, warm tongue laved every surface of her mouth and she tasted it, sucking, rubbing her tongue along his until they were fucking each other there.

Teresa's body quivered everywhere and she sobbed her need without tears, feral and out of control. She couldn't think what to do with her arms and legs except to grip Patrick with them, using the force to press and squirm against him, the sounds of her desire desperate.

Patrick melded against her as lightly as he could, allowing her movement to massage him, so fluid, so determined. She would make him come in moments.

He lifted his chest from her hold, calling her back. "Teresa. Teresa. Let's get up now, hmmm? Go to bed. If we don't, I'm going to come in my pants, right here."

The smile she gave him, face and neck flushed in pink and crimson blotches underneath her spray of freckles, cherried lips puffy and eyes barely open while the gorgeous fall of her hair spilled around her head, nearly sent him over the edge.

"Help me up." Her voice was low and breathy, climbing his spine and lighting fires.

The bed was big and soft, the sheets fresh and crisp. Lisbon started to undress, but Jane stopped her, wanting to resume where they had left off. He wanted to take her zipper down, feel her clothes coming off by his hand and her soft skin as he exposed it.

The passion of their kisses almost derailed his intent, but he managed to pull away and watch the swell of her cleavage heave with the effort to catch her breath. Slowly, he nicked the zipper down, the tiny noise loud as they both watched his fingers, captivated and silent. He mouthed the exposed flesh and she arched her back, thrusting it even further into his face. Her fingers rifled through his hair, fighting the urge to press him tighter. She wanted to experience what he wanted to do to her.

The zipper was completely open. Jane reached in for the soft flesh, pushing the cloth away to frame her, swelling from a red lacy bra. His nimble fingers plied into the cups to lift out her warm breasts. He rolled them in his hands, kissing her milky skin, until the nipples strained for his mouth. She groaned a throaty, "Patrick," as he stared eagerly, his mouth wet and ready to taste, never wanting to forget that first sight of them in his hands.

"You're so beautiful, Teresa, all of you."

"Kiss me. Kiss them."

Delirious, with her taste in his mouth, on his tongue, the press of her against his cheeks, his mind was white noise as he devoured her, gasping when he heard her say, "Patrick, oh, I want to come."

His face still rooting at her breast, he set the heel of his hand on the fleshy mound between her legs and pushed, circling to force her labia to open under her clothes, hoping to rub her still unknown clitoris.

Opening her throat to take in a gale of air, Teresa raised into his arms, her head at first thrown back as Patrick gave her room, his hand still pressing her below. She gripped his arms, looked right into his eyes and came, smiling, the spasms controlling her rhythmic cries. He pet her gently, soothing her as she came down from the riotous climax.

"Oh, god. Teresa! I've never seen anything so beautiful. So wonderful." His voice broke. "I love you!"

"The way you make me feel. The way you kiss me, touch me . . . I want you everywhere."

"We'll get to that."

"You pick. I can't."

"Oh, I want inside you, little bird, feeling you all around me. I want us to feel like one person, my swollen cock buried deep in your grip, moving together. I want to give you the ride of your life."

She arched and moaned loudly, her breath already fast, heart starting to race again. "Stop talking about it, aaahhh, do it!"

But seeing the red lace wrapper still around her breasts, Jane had to slow down. He tugged the cups to let her fall back into place, filling them generously. The edging crawled across her cleavage, swallowing her, teasing the eye. Her hard nipples poked the surface as if demanding all that red lace to spit her back into his hands.

She started to open her pants but he stopped her and took them slowly down himself. Red lace edging hugged her hips and thighs, barely holding the thin lace panels that comprised the panty. Her creamy flesh whispered underneath the lace, hairless, making burgundy shadows when she moved, especially the slit that marked her as female. It sat under a plump mons that parted into two generous lips, fat and inviting, whether by arousal or original design Patrick did not yet know. Time enough ahead to solve that mystery. The lace here was darker, glistening where her juices had soaked them through. He pressed his fingers into the moisture, bringing them to his nose, sampling the depths of her scent and then licking his fingers as she looked into his eyes. "Mmmm. So gorgeous in every way." His voice was husky and his eyes dark. What coated his fingers stirred the beast as he removed the wet lace and then her bra.

She rested on the pillow while he tore off his clothes, eyes on her naked female flesh, then paused to let her look him over.

Broad chest, wide shoulders, narrow hips, strong sleek legs and arms. His beauty moved her and she looked into the fathomless dark of his eyes as they searched her body. He was smiling, his lips wet. His erect male flesh was thick, ruddy with delay and want, moisture dripping from the plump head. The short hair on his balls made an enticing gold mist where they hung close to his body. Lust rose like lava from her core, igniting her blood everywhere. He would fill her and then some. "You're so beautifully made, Patrick. You arouse me."

Jane watched as she pulled up her knees, letting them fall widely apart, a hot perfumed invitation, exposing her swollen pink vulva, wet and glistening. His eyes darted there and stayed. The lips were plump and nude, sheltering her clitoris at the top and directing him to the entrance of her body. Petting the satiny skin lightly with his fingertips, he parted her more, locating the tight bud.

He could get lost there, letting his mouth and fingers explore. But she didn't want that right now and he needed to be inside her. So, gripping his begging flesh, he loaded into her, fast enough to shock them both with sensation, slow enough so he didn't crash into anything inside. Her tightness said she might be little in there, too, but she was just narrow, and long. He pushed all the way in, barely daring to breathe lest his dream evaporate.

The movement of her hips jerked him to reality, feeling him, needing him, all hot squish in a tight glove, gliding his length. Her moaning sighs were relief at first, but building into a furor of frenzy. He filled her completely and started to move hard like she needed tonight. His cock nudged her fleshy clit with every inward thrust. Soon their bodies danced in each other.

She pushed gently on his shoulders and he lifted away a little, watching her beautiful breasts bounce to their rhythm, bowing his back to mouth each nipple in turn. Her fingers raked through his hair, nails scratching lightly along his scalp.

She rose slightly to watch where they were joined, his skillful pumping, her outer flesh pillowed around his rigid shaft, rippling as he appeared and disappeared, bumping solidly against her clit, balls slapping her gently lower down, setting a brushfire in her entire pelvis. He was looking, too, huffing softly and beginning to whimper. He made her feel alive, everything in her body winding tightly for orgasm. They looked into each other's eyes, serious, on fire.

She was going to come within seconds and she wanted him to let go with her. "What do you want me to do?" Her soft voice wavered with his thrusts and just trying to concentrate enough to speak.

His eyes rolled back as he closed them and arched towards her. "My nipples . . . kiss me, Teresa, please. I'm so close." Her muscles already gripped him inside, calling him to ecstasy with her.

Holding his ribs, she feathered her lips against the tiny erect buds and licked, sucking them into her kisses. Her body was ready to explode as Patrick lost his rhythm and started to cry out. Teresa pulled him down and wrapped her legs over his, taking over the rhythm until they both yelled in release. He swore softly into her ear, then simply lapsed into calling god as her relentless spasms rocked them both and he pulsed hot semen into her.

It took them a long time to cool down and then neither would let the other pull free. Finally, Jane trickled out with their juices. Lisbon turned him to his side and pulled his head to pillow on her breasts. Crossing her arms across his back, she squeezed and tucked her chin into his curls. "I love you so much."

Jane cuddled closer, kissing the splendid breast under his cheek. "I love you, too. More than I can say—or even think, Teresa!"

Shortly, Jane got up and put on enough clothing to leave the house for his Airstream, stopping in the kitchen to toss something into the trash. At the door, they exchanged sloppy kisses for a long time, fondling each other's asses as a reminder for what to explore in their next encounter.

"Patrick?"

"Hmmmm?" he said, relinquishing his hold on her succulent lower lip.

"I don't want to live apart anymore."

He pulled away, holding onto her shoulders and looking carefully into her face. "I . . . I never did. I always want to be with you. Are you sure? You know you'll never be able to dislodge me."

"I don't want to. I want you here, with me. It doesn't have to be this very here. We can choose another place together if you like. Uh, not the Airstream, of course."

"No. Never there for our home."

"But please, could we start out here without any delay? Just start bringing your stuff over. Make it as easy as you want."

"Well, I won't need to call a moving company . . ." They both smiled, pleased at the images of life ahead together.

"Make me a happy woman. Please."

"Nothing could make me happier than to make you happy by being at your side. You just opened my gates of heaven."

"Stop. I won't be a piece of cake to live with."

"And you think I will?"

"No. But no one else will do. No one, Patrick."

"I'm in. Completely in. When we're ready to make our union permanent in the eyes of the law . . . we can find our together place. Until then, living in your lovely nest, little bird, will be the coziest, safest, happiest place on earth."

"Make us legally permanent, huh?" The look she gave him was teasing, but they both knew each was serious. "We might not be in my little nest for long."

"The sooner, the better."

They kissed some more but smiles of delight forced them to stop.

"I'll be back tomorrow night with some of my things."

"Oohhh, that sounds wonderful. I can't wait."

"What about your therapist? What will he think of all this?"

"Well . . . I'll see him a time or two more. He said I was already on the verge of a breakthrough and to go ahead with what I felt was . . . good for me. You're good for me, Patrick. I'm assuming Ed will celebrate with me."

"And you're good for me. You're making my life here, Teresa. I'm so . . . grateful."

"Hold me!" She leapt into his arms and he supported her butt so that she could hug his neck and cover his face with playful smacking kisses.

"If you keep that up, I'll never leave! Surely we can stand one more night apart . . ."

She lowered her legs and slid down the front of his body to her feet. Then, she started bumping his mild stiffie with her belly, chuckling, her expression impish and adoring as she gazed up at him. He smiled and tucked back wayward strands of her hair. Life with Teresa was going to be so much fun!

Teresa closed the door behind him and went to the kitchen to tidy up for the night. When she threw some trash into the receptacle she saw . . . a pack of cigarettes? She counted eight inside the packet. What on earth? She shrugged and tossed them back. She'd ask Jane about them. Tomorrow night. When he came to stay. For the rest of their lives. Smiling, she cut the kitchen lights and tromped happily to her shower and to bed.


End file.
